


Key to my soul, Part 2

by Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyn/pseuds/Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Ellison, detective meets Blair Sandburg, anthropologist under different circumstances and finds he is drawn to the young man he rescues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key to my soul, Part 2

This story has been broken into two parts. 

## Key to my soul

by Lyn

Author's website:  <http://brothersinarms.tvheaven.com>

* * *

**KEY TO MY SOUL -- Part Two**

Jim finished reading through Blair's statement and pushed back his chair with a sigh. He looked up as Simon Banks came into the bullpen and headed toward his desk. "Did you get anything more out of the kid?" Simon asked as he sat on the corner of the desk. 

Jim scrubbed a hand tiredly through his hair and shook his head. "Not much. It was Andrews who picked him up. He was chloroformed when he got into the car. They were kept drugged. Fed occasionally and given some water that he thinks was drugged a lot of the time. My guess would be to keep them weak, keep them quiet so that they wouldn't attract unwanted attention and there'd be no escape attempts." 

"Except for David Martin," Simon added. 

"Yeah. Anyway, they were kept in the pit pretty much all the time until they were sold or killed. Blair told his mother that the guards raped some if they got too noisy. He claims he was only raped by the head guy. He was able to give us a decent description. I've got Henri running it through records now. No name, of course. That's about it." Jim pushed his chair back from the desk and looked up at his captain. "He's sick, Simon. He was running a fever and his lungs sound awful. His mom's into all this alternative medicine. Doesn't want him taking the meds. Plus, he's suffering some flashbacks." 

"You're worried about him." 

"Of course, I'm worried about him, Simon. He's ...he's..." 

"He's what?" 

Jim stood up and walked over to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I don't know," he answered finally. "He's different, special somehow. I just feel drawn to him." 

"You're in love with him?" Simon asked incredulously. "I thought that only happened in the movies. You hardly know him." 

"If I keep telling myself that often enough, I'm hoping to convince myself," Jim said. 

Simon stood and pressed a hand to Jim's shoulder. "Come on," he said. At Jim's questioning look, he pointed to his office. "My coffee's better than the crap they brew out here." 

Simon sat back and studied the detective sitting opposite him. Jim Ellison was something of an enigma, even after five years working side by side with him. His heightened senses were even more of a mystery to the captain. Jim claimed his senses had become heightened during his time with the Army Rangers after a helicopter crash in Peru had left him, the sole survivor, stranded in the jungles for eighteen months, though he had vague memories of using his senses as a child. A somewhat primitive tribe of people known as the Chopec had taken him in and Jim said that their Shaman had guided him in honing his senses. Jim's hypersenses had become a valuable tool since Jim had joined the police force, though it was a closely kept secret, known only to Jim, Simon and Detective Brian Rafe, Jim's sometime partner on the job. 

Jim was an aloof and private man, though he and Simon had become close friends very quickly. Contrary to his almost paranoid shielding of his personal life, the detective had been refreshingly up-front regarding his sexual orientation. Jim had married Carolyn Plummer, a forensic specialist with the Cascade PD when he had first returned to the States and joined the police force. It was, Jim said later, a spectacular mistake. "After all the weird shit that had happened to me," he told Simon, "I needed something normal to hang on to." He now dated men from outside of his professional life and that, too had become a taboo subject. Until now. 

Simon drained the dregs of his coffee and reached over and picked up the phone. "Call him," he said, offering the receiver to Jim. "I need to be somewhere else for a couple of minutes." When Jim hesitated, he pushed the receiver into his hand. "Call," he ordered. "Even if it's just to make sure he's not any sicker than he was. Then maybe you can get back on track." 

Finally, Jim nodded and accepted the phone. He pulled a scrap of paper from his breast pocket and, as Simon left the room and shut the door, began to dial. 

When Simon returned, the detective was still seated at the desk and the phone receiver had been returned to its cradle. Simon shut the door and walked over to place a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Everything all right?" the captain asked. 

Jim started at his voice, then looked up and shrugged. "He left. His mother said they had an argument and he said he was going back to his own place." 

"Did she give you the address?" 

Jim was silent for a moment. "No," he said slowly. "She said he'd been through enough and asked me to leave him alone." 

Simon patted the detective's shoulder sympathetically. "His home address will be in the report. Why don't you..." 

"No," Jim answered quickly. 

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "That's it? Just no?" 

Jim nodded. "Yeah," he answered softly. "That's it." 

0~0~0~0~0 

It was after 2am when Jim finally got home. He threw his keys into the basket by the front door and yawned widely. He considered going straight to bed, but then opted to refresh himself with a shower first. Heading into the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes as he went, stuffing them into the laundry hamper behind the bathroom door. As soon as the water was hot, he stepped under the soothing spray, sighing softly in pleasure. Deciding to make the most of the experience, Jim dialed up his sense of touch slightly and let the pounding water massage his aching muscles and throbbing head. 

He reached for a bar of soap and began to wash away the grime and sweat of the day and as his hand rubbed over his chest, his nipples peaked and hardened at the heightened sensation. A memory of Blair came unbidden to Jim's mind, the small body naked and shivering, Blair's thin fingers, the skin fever-hot, reaching out to clasp around his own, searching for his protection. The detective brushed across his nipples once more and sent his other hand lower, brushing across his flat abdomen to fist his erection. He brought himself off quickly, almost brutally, coming at last with a soft moan and a wave of shame that his pleasure was sparked by a vision of a man already tormented and abused. Stepping out of the shower, he kept his touch dialed up as he dried himself off roughly. A penance for his shame. Not bothering with clothes, he wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom and threw himself down on the cool sheets. He was asleep in seconds. 

The phone woke him after what seemed only minutes of blissful unawareness and he growled in frustration as he reached out a hand for the receiver. "Ellison." 

There was no answer from the other end of the phone and after identifying himself twice more, Jim slammed the phone down in disgust and collapsed back onto his pillows. Less than two minutes later, the phone shrilled again and he picked it up, waiting a moment before identifying himself. "Ellison." 

Nothing. He was just about to hang up once more, when his curiosity won out and he extended his hearing, hoping to hear something at the other end of the line. He heard small shuffling sounds at first and then the softest of ragged breathing accompanied by a frantic, hammering heartbeat. He sat up quickly in the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. "Blair? Is that you?" 

He heard a gasp, and then a moan and he spoke again, reaching for his clothes as he did so. "Blair? Where are you?" 

"Home." The voice was so soft he almost missed it. 

"Can you give me your address? Do you want me to come over?" There was a long silence at first and he waited, then spoke again. "Do you need an ambulance? Are you sick?" 

"Come, please." 

He was at the front door already, one hand scooping up his keys and cell phone. "Blair? I have to hang up this phone now, but I'll be there soon. You just hang in there for me." 

He heard a soft, strangled cry as he thumbed the phone off. Running down the stairs to his truck, the detective opened his cell phone and called Major Crimes. He was able to quickly get Blair's home address from Mary Kelly, one of the detectives working late and with a growing sense of unease, steered his vehicle toward the warehouse district. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair huddled more closely into the corner of the vast warehouse space he called home. He wondered how long he would be incapacitated by the flashbacks that crept up unawares, whether he would be forever jumping at shadows and cowering in corners. He was past the flashback now and he felt slightly foolish. He knew that he should get up and go to bed but the shadowed corners still loomed menacingly, tiny claws still skittered in the far reaches of the warehouse, beams still creaked and moaned with the wind. 

He'd returned home after the disagreement with his mother had escalated into a blazing argument. His head had still been pounding after the detective had left and Naomi had started in on him the minute she got back from the store. She insisted that he sounded like he was keeping information from the police and demanded to know why he was protecting those who had assaulted him. Blair tried to explain and failed. He couldn't remember most of what had happened while he was at the warehouse. Perhaps his mind was blocking out the more terrible parts of his ordeal. That thought frightened him more than anything else did. 

Blair knew deep down that most of Naomi's anger was aimed at the men responsible for his kidnapping and rape. A more sensible part of him reasoned that he understood her rage and even her disappointment that he had not fought to defend himself. He could imagine too, the utter helplessness she must have felt not knowing where he was, if he were still alive. The other, slightly hysterical side of him felt disgust in himself as well, at his actions, or lack thereof and for his stupidity in accepting a ride from a total stranger. He felt anger too at Naomi for thinking that he somehow had encouraged the attack. 

"You think I wanted this?" he'd shouted at her, one hand raking over the bruises that marred his face and body, the other hand going up to clutch at his pounding head. 

"No, of course not, Blair," she'd said, her tears beginning anew. "I just meant that you must have at least tried to stop them. I know you would have." 

Blair backed up as she stepped toward him. "Well, then, I guess you don't really know me at all, Naomi,' he said. He turned quickly and walked straight out the door, ignoring her tearful requests for him to return. He'd walked home, each step becoming agony as his abused body and throbbing head protested the enforced exercise. He staggered up the rickety stairs to the space he called home and collapsed, panting, on the old sofa in the living area, finally drifting off into a restless slumber. 

When he awoke, it was dark outside and the area beyond his living space was cocooned in blackness. He got up and walked toward the kitchen area, intending to make himself some tea. His stomach rumbled and he wished suddenly that he hadn't left Naomi's apartment. He knew there was no food in the place. Naomi had come over the week before he'd been found and cleaned out the cupboards and refrigerator. The small sharp pain in his stomach reminded him of the other warehouse where they'd wait for days to be fed a small bowl of rice or some bread and cheese. A soft scrabbling noise made him stop suddenly and his eyes grew wide as they roamed the darkened spaces, trying to locate the source. Something ran over his foot and he was back in the other warehouse, cowering in the corner of his prison as a rat scurried hungrily about, searching for scraps of food. 

He'd managed now to crawl into a corner, his arms wrapped tightly about his knees as he stared out into the black space beyond and tried to make sense of the shadows that loomed above him. His hand felt along the coffee table next to him, looking for something with which to defend himself from his perceived tormentors and his fingers curled around the receiver of the phone. Pulling the small square card from his pocket, he squinted at the tiny print. He couldn't remember where his glasses were anymore. He ran a finger softly across the embossed name at the top of the card, then reached out a trembling finger to punch in the number listed below it. 

When the gruff voice first spoke, he lost his nerve, his mind spiraling back to the first time he'd heard it. The large hand gently cupping his face while other, rougher hands pulled at his cock until they coaxed an unwilling erection from him. "What's your name?" the voice asked and he fought to say the word until the leash floated gently down to lay across his shoulder, promising remembered horrors. 

Blair sobbed in frustration as his throat tightened and choked the words he needed to say. The phone disconnected abruptly in his ear and he moaned at the loss. Biting his lip, he forced his mind to stay in the reality of the present and resolutely pressed the redial button on the phone. 

Reassured now that his savior would come, Blair let the phone drop from his hand as he succumbed to his fever and exhaustion. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim parked the truck outside the darkened warehouse. He'd gotten Mary Kelly to check the address twice before making his way here. If the kid was suffering flashbacks, it was no small wonder living here, not 5 miles away from where he'd been held. The detective made his way to the front door of the building and turned the door handle. It was locked. He took a step back and directed his gaze up. He could see light shining from one of the windows on the first floor. Everything else was shrouded in darkness. He searched for and found an intercom button and pressed it twice, then extended his hearing into the building as he waited. 

He could hear a heartbeat, still fast but not racing as it had been, though the breathing was still ragged and caught occasionally as though someone were crying. Not someone. He knew it was Blair, though he had no idea how he knew. The intercom remained silent. Impatient and becoming more concerned, Jim stabbed at the button again. 

"Who's there?" The voice was hoarse and Jim could detect a faint wheeze behind the words. 

"It's me, Jim," he answered. "Jim Ellison." 

"The door's unlocked," Blair answered. 

"No, I tried it," Jim said. "It's locked." 

"The lock's broken. It just jams." 

"Okay. I'll try it again." Jim turned the knob again, this time putting his shoulder into the door and suddenly it gave, sending him stumbling into the warehouse. Just ahead of him, he could see a set of narrow, metal steps that led up to the next floor and a welcoming shaft of light. He reached the top and looked around. 

The living area was defined by pallets of packing cases that had been formed to make three walls, leaving one side open facing the stairs. The room was sparsely furnished with a couch, a small rickety coffee table and in one corner, Jim could see a mattress on the floor, the covers neatly pulled up. 

Movement from the corner alerted him to Blair's whereabouts and he turned in that direction as he watched the young man pull himself up from the ground. Blair wavered slightly on his feet as he pressed one hand flat against the wall for balance. Jim took a couple of steps forward, then stopped remembering Blair's panicked reaction earlier that day. 

"Hey," he said softly. "You all right?" 

Blair nodded and swiped a shaky hand quickly across his eyes and face, leaving a trail of moisture behind. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't have called. I came home and there was a noise, something." He paused and cleared his throat. "Just a rat, I think, but suddenly I was back...there." 

Jim shook his head and stepped into the living area. "It's no problem. I'm glad you called." 

Blair's head came up at the last comment and he walked unsteadily to the couch and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. "If you're hoping I've remembered something, I'm going to have to disappoint you." 

Jim stepped into the living room and crouched in front of the bowed figure, touching his knee. "I was worried about you, that's all. You were pretty sick this morning." 

Blair smiled; a rare smile of genuine pleasure and Jim felt his knees weaken at the sight. "May I?" The detective indicated a worn armchair opposite the couch. 

Blair nodded. "Of course. I don't have too many people that worry about me," he said. "It's a nice feeling." 

"I'm sure your mother..." 

"Wishes I hadn't screwed up her perfectly ordered life," Blair interrupted. 

He broke off to cough harshly and when it seemed he could not stop, Jim hurried to the tiny kitchen and found a tumbler. He filled it with water from the faucet, a quick search in the refrigerator showing it to be bare. He carried the glass back to Blair and sat beside him on the couch, one hand rubbing along the bony back in sympathy. He handed the drink to Blair but wrapped his own hand around the other man's when it appeared Blair's shaky grip would dump the entire contents in their laps. Finally, after several small sips and some spluttering chokes, the spasm subsided and Blair pushed the glass back toward Jim and laid his head in his hands once more. "Thanks," he wheezed. 

Jim nodded and continued, unconsciously, to stroke Blair's back. "Can I get anything else for you?" the detective asked. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he laid a gentle hand on Blair's forehead. "You have a fever," he said. "Do you have some Tylenol or something." 

Blair shook his head, then winced and moaned at the action and went back to holding his head. "Naomi cleaned the place out. I have a feeling she'd kind of given up on me." 

Jim smiled sadly. "I can't imagine that. Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Could you give me a ride?" Blair asked. He sat back and leaned his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closing against the glare of the light. 

"Sure. Where to?" 

"Um, I'm not sure. God, my head hurts. I can't think straight." 

Jim reached out and began to massage Blair's temples with his fingers. He saw the other man tense initially, then sigh and relax into the soothing touch. 

"That's nice," he whispered. "I don't know where I can go. Naomi's taken off somewhere to process everything. I'll have to check and see...damn. Did I have a backpack with me?" 

"When?" 

"When you found me?" 

"No, I don't recall seeing one. Is there a problem?" 

Blair sat up and Jim dropped his hand to his lap. "Any money I had was in my backpack, plus my credit card, and some research notes. Not that the notes matter. I'm going to be so far behind on my dissertation, I won't finish it before the next millenium. I can't concentrate anyway." He pounded the armrest of the sofa angrily. "Shit! I can't stay here. I was hoping I could scrape up enough for a motel room. Maybe I could get the janitor to let me into my office. If I still have an office." 

"I've got a spare room at my place," Jim said. "You're welcome to use it for as long as you need." 

"You mean that? You don't even know me." 

Jim shrugged. "I know what I need to. You're sick, alone and you need a bed for a few nights." He stood and held out a hand to Blair. "Why don't you let me help you pack some clothes." 

Blair accepted Jim's help and stood on still shaky legs. He smiled again, this time the smile reached his eyes. "Thank you, Jim." 

0~0~0~0~0 

As the truck disappeared up the road and turned onto the highway, a man broke away from the shadows and ran to a car parked at the rear of the warehouse. He climbed behind the wheel of the car and turned to look back at the fat man in the back seat. "He left with that cop." 

"What cop?" 

"Ellison. The one from the bust." 

"Fool!" the big man spat. "You were too slow." He pulled a large cigar from his breast pocket and sniffed along its length. "Find out where he lives. I want that boy. Kill the cop while you're at it." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair was asleep by the time they arrived back at the loft. Jim turned off the engine, and then sat for a moment, studying the young man beside him. Blair's sleep was not a peaceful one, Jim could see that by the way the young man's eyes moved restlessly beneath the lids, and how he frowned and mumbled softly in his sleep. He was still pale, his skin almost translucent, a dark bruise standing out on his jaw in harsh contrast and Jim's own jaw tightened when he remembered the welts that he'd seen covering Blair's back that night in the warehouse. He was too thin, his bones jutting sharply against the soft flesh, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame. 

Jim reached out a hand to wake the young man and then froze, one hand wavering just above Blair's shoulder. Gently, he stroked down Blair's softly whiskered chin, his fingertips burning at the touch. He moved his hand up to tangle gently in the dark curls, feeling their buttery silk glide through his fingers. He ghosted his hand along Blair's brow, pleasantly surprised to see the frown there smooth out. 

As he cupped Blair's cheek again, the young man turned his head slightly and leaned into the caress, slowly opening drowsy blue eyes. He smiled softly at the detective who sat, staring at him, a glazed expression on his face. 

"Hey," Blair whispered. "Are we there? Sorry I drifted off." Jim didn't answer, his gaze firmly fixed on Blair's face and Blair tried again. "Jim?" 

Worried when he again got no response, Blair sat up, abruptly pulling himself away from the detective's hold. He waved a hand in front of Jim's face, and getting no response, began to panic. At the same time, something tugged at his memory, though he could not quite bring it to the surface. "Oh man," he whispered, rubbing a shaky hand over his face. "Jim, come on, man. You've got me seriously freaked here." 

He reached out and grasped hold of Jim's hand. It was icy cold to the touch and he wrapped his fingers around the detective's wrist, sighing in relief as a steady pulse thrummed against his fingertips. He raised his other hand to Jim's face and stroked along the firm cheek and jaw line. "Come on, Jim. Wherever you are, it's time to come back." 

Blair jumped as Jim suddenly drew in a sharp breath and blinked slowly several times. The anthropologist watched him carefully for a moment. "Are you all right?" 

Jim studied him for a moment as though trying to interpret the words, then nodded and rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I must be more tired than I realized." 

"Glad it happened after you parked the truck," Blair answered. He opened his door and climbed down carefully, twinges of pain at the movement reminding him of his injuries. Jim waited at the curb with Blair's duffel bag in his hand until Blair joined him, then led the way into the apartment building. Both men were silent as they got into the elevator, then Blair finally spoke up. "Does that happen often?" 

"What?" 

"That drifting off. What were you so focused on anyway?" 

"You." 

"What?" 

Jim reddened. "Nothing. I...um...have these blackouts sometimes. I don't know what causes them. I've seen a lot of doctors." He shrugged. "They don't know anymore than I do. I've learned to live with it." 

"You said you were focused on me," Blair pressed. "Are you attracted to me?" 

"No, of course not..." 

"Because I wouldn't mind at all, if you were," Blair finished. 

The elevator jerked to a halt before Jim could answer and the doors opened, revealing an elderly couple waiting outside. Jim exited first and held the door for the couple, then led the way to his apartment. 

Blair stood awkwardly just inside the front door of the apartment as Jim carried his duffel bag into a small room that was located at the base of the stairs. The apartment was decorated sparsely but tastefully, the furniture obviously expensive. The stairs led to a loft bedroom and glass doors looked out onto a wide balcony with a view over the city. 

"You have a nice place," Blair said as Jim came out of the bedroom. 

"Thanks," Jim answered. "Come on in and sit down. Let me get you some Tylenol and some water. Or would you prefer juice?" 

Blair shook his head as he lowered himself gingerly to the couch. "Water's fine. You know, you can tell a lot about a person by studying their surroundings." 

"Yeah? Well, this place won't tell you much about me, I'm afraid. My ex-wife did the decorating." He held out two white pills and a bottle of water. 

"Your wife? I thought that you were..." Blair broke off, feeling embarrassed at his slip. Naomi always said he spoke before he put his brain into gear. Quickly, he swallowed the pills and gratefully drank down the rest of the cold water. 

"Gay?" Jim finished for him. He smiled. "That's why the marriage didn't work." 

"I'm sorry." 

Jim shrugged and sat down on the armchair opposite him. "Nothing to be sorry for. We're still friends. Probably better friends now than we ever were when we were married." 

"I mean I'm sorry for prying into your personal life." 

"You have a right to know what kind of person you're going to be staying with." 

"Can I ask you something else?" 

"Sure." 

"Why did you offer me a place to stay?" 

"Why not?" Jim said, looking uncomfortable. "You're a nice guy and you had something awful happen to you. You need somewhere to stay until you're feeling better." He paused for a moment, then sat forward and studied Blair carefully. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't find you attractive but I'm not planning on making any moves and that's not why I asked you to come. Why did you call me?" 

"I feel something, a connection with you, something." Blair rubbed a hand through his hair and stifled a yawn. "Would you mind if I just went to bed? I'm really wiped." 

"You should eat," Jim said. "Some soup, maybe." 

"Maybe later," Blair answered, struggling to his feet. "Thanks for taking me in." He walked slowly into the spare bedroom and sank down onto the bed in relief. He felt lightheaded with exhaustion. He was asleep in minutes. 

He woke to darkness and fought the scream that forced its way up his throat, threatening to squeeze past his clenched teeth. His hands fisted in the bed sheets and he tried to concentrate on the softness of the mattress beneath him, grounding him in the present. Sitting up, he blinked rapidly, attempting to distinguish the ominous shapes that loomed before him but then the blackness threatened to suffocate him and he threw himself from the bed, rushing quickly to the living room. 

He stood in the center of the room for a moment with his arms wrapped tightly about his shivering body. A soft snore from above drew his gaze up to the loft bedroom and slowly he turned toward the staircase and made his way upstairs. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim wasn't sure what woke him, but he sat up and rested his hand on his gun as he heard the soft padding of feet ascending the stairs. Increasing his eyesight in the near- blackness, he released his grip on the weapon as he saw Blair's curly head come into view. The other man stopped at the top of the stairs and stood quietly, shifting from one foot to the other, his arms wrapped tightly around his shivering body. He jumped when Jim spoke. 

"Everything all right?" Jim's heart missed a beat as Blair stumbled backwards and his flailing hand caught hold of the stair rail. "Shit! Are you okay?" The detective was at Blair's side, one arm around the other man's shoulders before he was even aware that he'd moved. 

"I'm okay." Blair straightened from his crouch and pushed himself slightly away from Jim's grasp. Jim acknowledged the movement and took a step back toward the bed. "I'm sorry I startled you," he said. "I should have turned on the light. I forgot I don't need to." 

Blair looked at him quizzically. "Why? You eat a lot of carrots or something?" 

Jim shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Or something. Is there something you need?" 

"What? Oh, no, I'm sorry I woke you up. I just...I can't seem to get used to being alone anymore." 

Jim noticed the young man's shivering begin anew and he picked up his robe from the chair by the bed and draped it over Blair's shoulders. The anthropologist huddled into the warmth and smiled his appreciation. "Thanks. Anyway, I'm sorry I disturbed you. I don't even know why I came up here." 

"I think you do," Jim whispered. He shook himself as he realized what he'd said. "There's plenty of room here." He patted his bed. "If it'll make you more comfortable, I can sleep over there in the chair." 

Blair shook his head. "I couldn't kick you out of your own bed." 

"Then we'll share it," Jim answered. When Blair hesitated, he climbed under the covers and scooted over to the far side. "It's plenty big enough for two." 

Blair smiled appreciatively then and quickly made his way to the bed. He snuggled into the warmth left by Jim's body and rolled to his side facing Jim. "Tell me about yourself," he said. 

"Not much to tell," Jim answered, laying his head on the pillow and smiling at the other man. "How about you? What are you studying?" 

"Tribal guardians," Blair said around a yawn. 

"Go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow." 

Blair nodded and smiled, then turned to the opposite side. "Thanks. Good night." 

"Good night, Blair." 

The next time Jim awoke, Blair was moaning softly in his sleep, his heart pounding. Jim nervously placed his hand on Blair's shoulder and patted gently, trying to soothe the young man back to sleep. Blair reached up and seized Jim's hand, wrapping it around his body and clasping it tightly before resting his cheek upon it. Thus comforted, his nightmare appeared to ease and he went back to sleep. Jim lay awake until dawn began to filter into the bedroom, then drifted off, anchored in a dreamy half-sleep by Blair's steady heartbeat. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim awoke and found himself drowning in a pair of azure eyes. Blair smiled at him and sat up in the bed, scrubbing a hand through his tousled curls. 

"Morning, Jim. I think that was the first real sleep that I've had since, well, in a very long time." He turned slowly so that he faced the detective. "Thank you, for all of this." 

Jim smiled back. He couldn't recall feeling this relaxed in a long time either. "You're welcome. You feel up to some breakfast?" 

Blair appeared to ponder the question. "I promise whatever costs there are, I'll pay you back as soon as I'm on my feet and I can get some work or get back to teaching." 

"We'll work something out, Chief," Jim replied as he pulled back the covers and stood up. "Now, are you hungry?" 

"Starved," Blair admitted. "Could I take a shower first?" 

"Sure." Jim pressed a hand to Blair's forehead. "Your fever's almost gone. Looks like the antibiotics are working." 

"Don't tell Naomi, she'd have a fit." Blair's voice broke on the words and he looked away. "Sorry," he said finally, his voice shaky. "You must think I'm a real wuss." 

Jim reached out and squeezed Blair's shoulder. "I think you're incredibly brave and you have every right to be upset. Whatever you need to do to get through this, Blair, it's all right with me." 

"I miss her. We've never had an argument before." 

"Do you want to call her? You're welcome to use the phone." 

Blair shook his head. "She'll get in touch when she's ready. Detach with love and all that." He looked quickly at Jim. "Don't get me wrong, she really is very nice." 

Jim nodded and offered Blair his robe. "Go take a shower. You like eggs?" 

"Yeah, thanks."   
0~0~0~0~0 

"No. No. I swear to you, man. That's the guy's name. Sir Richard Burton, but he was an explorer, not an actor. Anyway, he discovered these tribal guardians, what he called sentinels. They were chosen by the tribe to be the protectors because of this genetic advantage they had of having heightened senses...." Blair's voice trailed off as he saw the humor on Jim's face replaced by a frown. "Jim? What's wrong?" 

Jim leaned over the table and hissed in his face. "Are you yanking my chain here? How did you find out about that?" 

Blair shook his head, at a loss to understand Jim's anger, then slowed his movement as realization dawned. Egg dropped from the fork halfway to his mouth and landed on the table. "Oh shit! Jim! The seeing in the dark thing, and the zoneouts. How many?" 

"What?" 

"How many senses are heightened?" 

Jim rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Seems like all of them." His eyes narrowed. "Why?" 

Blair chortled. "Because I can help you, man. In fact, I'm probably the only person who can. You're what I've been studying, Jim. You're my Holy Grail!" 

Jim eyed him suspiciously, causing Blair to look away, suddenly nervous. "What do you get out of it?" the detective asked. 

"This isn't a trade-off," Blair answered. "Not exactly." He held up a hand to forestall the expected comment. "Look, if you really do have five heightened senses," he felt a shiver go through him at the words, "then I am probably the only person in the world, or at least in Cascade who knows anything about it. I can help you learn to control them, so that you can use them to your benefit and so you can avoid the zoneout factor." 

"The what?" 

"The zoneout factor," Blair repeated patiently. "It's what happens to you when you focus too much on one sense. You kind of overload. Like you did on me in the truck." He saw Jim's face redden and reached over to pat his hand. "It's okay. I'm cool with that. It was really very flattering, considering what I must look like." 

"You look fine," Jim answered and it was Blair's turn to blush at the sincere words. "Anyway," Jim continued. "Can you show me how to switch them off?" 

"Switch them..." Blair was aghast. "What the fuck would you want to do that for? This is a gift, man. You can't switch it off. But," he raised a hand again. "You can hone it to your advantage, with my help." 

"Okay, I'll bite," Jim replied, pushing back from the table. "What's in it for you?" 

"Like I told you, my dissertation is on tribal guardians." He pointed a finger at Jim. "Sentinels. I've studied hundreds of people with one or two heightened senses, but never anyone with all five. If I could study you," he saw Jim's jaw clench but plunged on, "in return for helping you learn to control them, I mean that would be the pinnacle of my career." 

"You want to study me?" Jim repeated. "Turn me into some kind of lab rat, a freak?" 

"No!" Blair shouted, pushing up out of his chair. He grimaced as the sudden move pulled at his injuries and felt a cold sweat break out on his heated skin as dizziness threatened to toss him to the floor. He sank back down into the chair and scrubbed a hand through his curls. "No. No one would need to know it was you. No names, totally anonymous. It's routinely done. It wouldn't raise any suspicion, except..." 

"Except what?" 

"Well, it's a pretty amazing thing, you know." Blair tried to smile. "Superman, supercop." He grew thoughtful. "We could pull it off. We just have to be careful. This is just amazing, Jim. I mean what are the chances of me meeting you in a city this size?" 

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly." The granite tone caused Blair to pause and he looked up at the other man. 

"Oh no, Jim, if you think I set this up! No! How do you think I would have found out about you? I've been kind of out of circulation lately." He felt an involuntary shudder go through him and fought off the flashback that threatened to engulf him. "Who else knows?" 

"That's what bothers me," Jim answered. "Only my captain and my partner, Rafe." 

Blair swallowed past the lump choking his throat. He pushed back the chair and got unsteadily to his feet. "I'm sorry if you think that I would abuse your generosity. I'd better go. Thank you for your hospitality. I'll just go pack my stuff. Tell Captain Banks if there is anything else he needs to know, he can contact me at the university." He turned around and walked into the bedroom on shaky legs, ignoring Jim's call for him to wait, his knees threatening to buckle at each step. 

Blair heard the rapping at the front door as he stuffed his clothes back into the duffel bag. Raised voices made him pause and he wandered to the doorway of the room, his curiosity overtaking him. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Jim turn toward him in the very same instant that the stranger at the door raised his hand and slammed a gun brutally into the side of Jim's head. The detective dropped like a stone, blood streaming from a gash above his eye. 

"No!" Blair saw the gun lifted a second time, now with the barrel pointed at the downed man and the stranger's finger began to tighten on the trigger. Blair was across the room, barreling into the gunman before he was aware that he'd moved. 

The stranger looked up as Blair shouted, his weapon moving with him but before he could react, Blair's body hit him solidly, throwing him back against the doorframe. The gun discharged loudly, bucking in the attacker's hand and then he supported the boneless weight of the smaller man as Blair sank to the floor with a soft gasp. Quickly, the gunman bent to check the small still figure lying crumpled over that of the larger man. He cursed softly as his fingers encountered the stickiness of fresh blood oozing from the young man's upper arm. Reaching beneath him, he felt for a carotid pulse on the detective and found it pounding steadily. 

Bending once more, he hoisted the unconscious anthropologist over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Straightening, he brought his weapon to bear on the cop again, but before he could squeeze the trigger, he heard a door open further up the corridor accompanied by the buzz of voices. Quickly, he hurried through the apartment into the spare bedroom. He pushed open the window that he knew led to the fire escape and rapidly made his way down, Blair's arms flopping rhythmically against his back. 

0~0~0~0~0 

"Jim? Jim? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me." The words buzzed around Jim's ears, making his head pound with pain and he raised a hand to bat the annoyance away. 

"Whu?" 

"That's it, Jim. Now, just open your eyes for me." 

Jim cracked open his eyes and instantly wished he hadn't as light blasted into them, causing his head to feel as though it was splitting in two. He felt hands beneath his shoulders that carefully assisted him to a sitting position and he swallowed down the nausea that surged with the movement as the room did a slow roll. 

"Simon? What the fuck hit me?" Shakily, the detective raised a hand to his head, wincing as it touched a tender spot. He frowned down at the blood that covered his fingers. 

"I was hoping you could tell me," Simon sighed from his position crouched next to the detective. 

"Oh God." Jim's head shot up and then he groaned loudly as he clasped his head in both hands and slumped against his captain. 

"Jim! What's wrong?" Sounding concerned, the captain lowered the detective back to the floor where he immediately curled into a tight ball, rocking slowly and clasping at his head. The captain raised his head and looked around. "Where the hell are the paramedics?" He returned his attention to the prone detective. "Jim? Can you hear me?" He squeezed Jim's shoulder but pulled back as the detective moaned in obvious pain and flinched away from his touch. 

"Sandburg," Jim finally managed to grind out against the agony that seemed to assault every nerve and sandpaper them raw. "Where's Sandburg?" 

Simon shook his head as he stood and made way for the paramedics. "He's not here, Jim." He looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Are you saying he was here?" 

"Yeah." Jim was careful not to move his head. "I brought him here last night. He was scared, sick. Someone came to the door, can't remember much more." 

Simon looked thoughtful. "There was blood on the floor. We just assumed it was yours. The neighbors heard a disturbance and came down to check. Found you unconscious." The captain looked up and summoned Detective Henri Brown over. "Get Forensics here, Brown. I want to know whose blood this is." He indicated the small puddle of smeared blood on the floor next to Jim. 

Jim grunted and tried not to shy away as the paramedic shone a torch into his eyes. "Everything's out of control, Simon," he whispered, hoping that the captain would understand his meaning. He struggled to rise but sank to the floor as a hand on his chest pushed him back. 

"You need to be checked out at the hospital, Detective," the young paramedic said as he began to pack away his things. "You've got a concussion and that gash over your eye will need sutures." 

Jim thought about arguing but another surge in his headache decided him against it. "Talk to Andrews," he said to Simon as he was helped onto a gurney. "He's got to know something." 

Simon nodded and watched as they wheeled the detective out the door. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair awoke to a gentle rocking rhythm that threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Moaning softly, he rolled to his side and pushed himself up on shaky arms, only to collapse again as red-hot agony burnt through his right arm. He lay face down for long moments, trying frantically to catch his breath. Gingerly, he felt along his right arm, shuddering as the bone shifted beneath his fingers. His upper arm was swathed in a thick coarse bandage of some kind. He felt something wet and sticky on the cloth and assumed it was blood. Then the memory of the attack in the loft came back vividly to him. Giving way to a sob of despair, he rolled carefully to his back and stared upwards. Squinting into the darkness, he looked down to see that his jacket and shoes had been removed, leaving him clad only in a T-shirt and jeans. He shivered. 

He heard the door open and scooted back against the far wall, biting down on his lip as the movement awoke the pain in his arm. His eyes widened and the color drained from his face as a large figure stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the other room. "Welcome back, Thursday," the fat man wheezed. "Looks like I get to keep you for my own pleasure after all." 

Blair glared at the other man. "My name is Blair Sandburg," he said, his voice and limbs shaking in unison. 

The fat man advanced on him and Blair plastered himself against the wall. "You're getting ideas above your station, Thursday," Blair's tormentor said. "We'll have to beat that out of you." With an almost graceful movement that belied his bulk, he bent and placed a jug on the floor. "It's only water," he said. "Drink. I'll send someone in shortly to clean you up. I'm not having you in my bed smelling like you do." 

"You're not getting me in your bed, period, you freak," Blair spat at the man and then slammed backward, his head impacting the wall with a dull thud as the fat man lashed out with a fist and dealt him a blow across his cheek. 

"Manners, Thursday, manners," the man admonished his cowering prisoner. He indicated the jug with a wave of a pudgy hand. "Drink." With that final instruction, he turned and exited the room. 

Blair slid down to the floor and bent his knees up so that he could cradle his injured arm across them. He took a deep breath and eyed the jug of water apprehensively. He was thirsty but he remembered the drugged water from before and decided against drinking. His mind wandered to Jim and the awful image of the big man lying on the floor of the apartment, the blood streaming down the side of his ashen face. "Don't let him be dead," Blair muttered. "Please don't let him be dead." 

Blair wiped impatiently at the tears that overflowed from his eyes. Nobody knew where he was. It was no use waiting around for someone to rescue him. The only thing he knew for sure was that this time he wasn't going down without a fight. He let his gaze wander around the bare room. It was a storage room of some kind. There was only one exit. Shelves lined one wall, with sheets and towels stacked on it. The floor moved again beneath him awaking the nausea in his stomach and he leaned to one side to give into the sickness assaulting him. 

Finally forcing down the dry heaves that threatened to tear up his throat, Blair lay back and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. As he did so, something dug into the top of his thigh and he shifted, scrabbling in his pocket, beginning to believe that, at last, he might have a fighting chance. He had to arch his hips up and dig deep into the secret pocket cut into his jeans but he smiled victoriously as his fingers closed around the little pocket knife his mother had given him for his bar mitzvah. Sitting up again, he pried the biggest blade from its sheath and clutched the handle tightly in a shaking fist. 

Shuffling forward on his behind, Blair took up a position up against the door and shoved himself upright, using the wall for support. He closed his eyes briefly against the dizziness that surfaced, then gritted his teeth and settled in for the duration. This time, he vowed, he would fight, or die trying. He knew he wouldn't survive a second ordeal. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Simon Banks slammed his fist against the wall of the observation room in frustration. Brian Rafe had been interviewing Damon Andrews for over an hour now and the man still hadn't given up any information apart from his name. A blur passing the small window in the door caught the captain's attention and he turned to glance into the interview room just as the door was thrown open and Jim Ellison barreled in. The big detective ignored his partner entirely, striding quickly up to the table and grasping Andrews by the throat before Rafe could guess his intentions. 

Andrews' eyes went wide in fear as he was lifted bodily from his chair and thrown across the room to land with a bone-shuddering jolt against the far wall. Before he could get up, Jim was in his face, one hand curled into the neck of the other man's sweater as he dragged the thug to his feet and slammed him back into the wall again. The detective leaned in close, his breath puffing into Andrews' wary face. "Where's Sandburg?" Jim hissed. 

Receiving no answer, Jim threw Andrews back again, ignoring the yelp of pain from the other man and shaking off the restraining hands that fought to pull him away. Turning slightly, Jim fixed Rafe with a feral glare. "This is between him and me," he ground out. "Go get yourself some coffee." 

Rafe paused for a moment, then turned to face his captain who was now standing in the open doorway. Simon nodded for Rafe to leave. Once the younger detective exited the room, Simon shut the door and returned to the observation booth. Sighing loudly at Jim's actions, he pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it. Settling back in his seat, the captain sat back to watch the drama unfold. 

Jim didn't acknowledge Rafe's leaving, having eyes only for Andrews. He smiled evilly as he saw the man's eyes flicker nervously away from him and a tongue came out to lick dry lips. "What's the head guy's name?" 

Andrews shook his head, so Jim moved his hand from the collar of the man's jumper to his throat. Applying a small amount of pressure, he slowly dragged Andrews up the wall until the man was scrabbling with his toes to find purchase on the floor. Andrews' face reddened and both hands came up to lock around Jim's. 

"I asked you a question, dirt bag," Jim said. "Who's the boss man and where do I find him?" 

Andrews pulled in a labored breath past the crushing fingers of Jim's hand. "Kostas," he wheezed. "He's got a boat out on the bay, that's what I heard. That's all I know, I swear." 

"Name?" Jim slammed the man back again when he didn't answer. "I said, name? Of the boat?" 

Andrews shook his head, then closed his eyes briefly. Opening them again, he swallowed convulsively as he looked into the blue eyes of the detective. "Sea Breeze, Sea Shell. Something like that." 

Jim dropped the man to the ground, and then spun on his heel, already aware of Simon entering the room. "Can we get a search on the marina? See if there's a boat registered there by the name of Sea Breeze or Sea Shell?" 

The captain signaled to the uniformed officer standing outside the door. "Take him back to holding." He turned to Jim and took hold of the man's arm as the detective wavered slightly on his feet. "You all right?" 

Jim gave a terse nod and headed determinedly toward the elevators. Simon didn't look convinced. Several black stitches in the gash above Jim's eye were a stark contrast to his ashen complexion. 

"You don't look okay," the captain said as he caught up to the other man. "You still having trouble with your senses?" 

"A little," Jim admitted as he punched the button for the parking garage. "Just dropping in and out on me now and then." 

"Look, why don't we do this from my office?" 

Jim shook his head, then grimaced at the flare of pain. "I'm gonna get this bastard, Simon, if it's the last thing I do. He's got to know it's only a matter of time before we're onto him. If we don't move on this now, he and Sandburg will be long gone." 

"Providing Sandburg's still alive." 

"He's alive," Jim answered. At Simon's inquiring look, he shrugged. "I just know. It's like I can feel him or something." 

As the men got off the elevator and headed toward Simon's car, Jim spoke again. "There's something else you should know. He knows about me." 

Simon almost dropped his cigar in surprise. "You told him? Are you nuts?" 

Jim shook his head. "He told me, actually. He's been studying people like me for his doctorate. He put two and two together and came up with four. He said he can help me control them, stop the zoneouts." 

"The what?" 

"The zoneouts." Jim waited until they were both seated in the car. "That thing where I drop out for a bit." 

Simon steered the car out of the garage and onto the street. "Jim, was the kid there all last night. I mean, did you..." 

"He stayed, like I told you, because he was sick and needed somewhere to go. We shared a bed because he was scared, but we didn't make love, no. Not that I didn't want to." He saw the frown on the captain's face but pressed on. "We've got to find him, Simon." 

Simon nodded and reached for the car radio. "We will." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Blair held his breath as the door to the storeroom swung open and prayed that the man entering couldn't hear his wildly hammering heart. 

"What the fuck?" 

Blair acted the moment he saw the man's hand fumble for the light switch. Stepping out from behind the door, he raised his arm and brought the pocketknife down in an arc toward the other man's back. 

The man turned at the last minute, his eyes growing wide as Blair's knife plunged into his chest. One hand reached up to grasp at the handle of the blade still embedded there. Then, with a burbling moan that spouted blood from his mouth, Blair's attacker crumpled to the floor. Blair stood rooted to the spot, his eyes staring at the unresponsive man at his feet. 

"Murray? Where are you? Kostas wants the little fag now." 

Blair looked up in fright at the voice that floated down from above him somewhere. Swallowing hard, he bent and gritted his teeth as he pulled the blade from the other man's body. He wiped it shakily on his jeans and then, poking his head out into the other room first to ensure the coast was clear, crept out of the storage room. 

Looking around, it was apparent that he was on a large, luxurious yacht. He was standing now in the middle of a dining/galley area. Two narrow staircases sat at either end of the room. Craning his head slightly, Blair could see that the stairs nearest him led up to the outside. Hearing faint voices once more from above, the anthropologist looked around frantically. Finally, seeing a small broom cupboard behind the stairs, he scooted into the tiny space and scrunched himself in as tightly as he could, closing the door behind him. The confines of the cupboard pushed against his broken arm and Blair bit down hard on his lip to stifle his cry of pain, oblivious to the blood that dribbled down his chin. He shifted so that he was hunched into a small quivering ball with his injured arm resting on his knees, his good arm wrapped tightly around his legs. As he heard the heavy sounds of feet descending the stairs, he willed himself to stay silent and still. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim got out of the car before it was fully stopped and hurried up the quay to where he could see the yacht at its moorings in the distance. The name 'Sea Breeze' was painted in large white scroll across its bow. Ducking behind a pile of containers, he waited for Simon to catch up, then carefully poked his head out from his hiding place and focused his sight. Almost instantly, a shaft of blinding pain assaulted him, threatening to cleave his skull in two, and he dropped to his knees, holding his head. 

He felt Simon's hand on his shoulder as the captain hissed out his name. "Jim! Are you all right?" 

It took him a moment, but eventually Jim nodded his head and straightened. Ducking down, he repeated his actions and this time was rewarded with a close-up view of two men, pacing the perimeter of the yacht, automatic weapons at the ready. Taking a deep breath, Jim closed his eyes and focused his hearing on the yacht. There were too many heartbeats for him to count, but he could hear angry shouting and running feet. He watched as one of the guards looked back over his shoulder toward a disembodied voice. "Kostas wants you to cast off now. The kid got loose. He killed Murray." 

Jim felt his spirits lift at the words. Blair was alive and free somewhere. Turning to his captain, he quickly explained the situation. "I need you to cause a distraction of some kind," Jim said. "Buy me some time to get on the yacht." 

Simon pressed the button on his cell phone and looked at his detective. "Back-up's on the way. Seems the Narcotics squad has a vested interest in Nick Kostas too. They'll be here in ten minutes." 

"It's too long, Simon," Jim argued. "Sandburg could be dead by then. He's got nowhere to go and he's the only one who can finger Kostas." With that, he was gone, Simon's whispered command to wait falling on a rapidly retreating back. 

Simon watched the Detective go and cursed. "Shit! Just wait till we get back to the office, Ellison, I'm going to have you on desk duty for a month." With a muttered epithet, he quickly stripped off his suit jacket and tie, then stood up, making his way slowly toward the yacht and its wary guards. "Hi there," he called up to them. "Just out for a stroll and this lovely lady caught my eye. She's quite a beauty. Mind if I ask you a little bit about her? What speed does she do on open water?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim clamber onto some discarded containers and vault over the railing onto the deck. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim pulled his weapon from its holster and risked a quick glance toward the guards at the opposite end of the yacht. He could hear them shouting at Simon now; telling him to leave and he smiled. He made his way toward the small wheelhouse and crept up behind the unsuspecting man seated there. Jim had a hand over the man's mouth, the other behind his head before the other knew he existed. A quick jerk of his hands in counter directions and the man dropped to the ground, dead. 

Jim stepped further inside and made his way slowly down the stairs. He extended his hearing ahead of him, hoping to find the heartbeat he sought most, and was rewarded with a frantic pounding beat that appeared to come from below and behind him. He had no time to question how he knew it was Blair's heart he was hearing. For now, he merely accepted that it was and followed the sound down to the bottom of the stairs. 

Jim bent low, scanning the interior as he neared the lower level of the yacht, but there was no one in sight. He tried to extend his hearing out to locate the other members of the gang but Blair's frantic heart drowned out all other sound and he couldn't seem to lower the volume. 

Quickly, he looked toward the back of the stairs and spotted the broom cupboard. Moving faster now, he hurried over and carefully opened the door. Kneeling, he extended one hand slowly and rested it on the shaking man's shoulder. Blair flinched imperceptibly, then resumed his rocking. "Blair? It's me, Jim. I'm going to get you out of there, all right." 

"Jim?" Blair's voice was hoarse, his breathing ragged, but he did not look up. 

"Yeah, Chief, it's me." Jim did a quick scan of the other man's condition, his nose wrinkling at the strong coppery scent of blood. "Where are you hurt?" 

Blair finally looked up at him from his huddled position. His eyes were swollen and red, his face bruised and spattered with blood. "Arm," he said, his voice breaking on the word. "It hurts." He reached out a trembling hand and touched Jim's face. "For real?" he asked. 

Jim nodded. "I'm real. We've got to get you out of there, Chief and get you to safety. This yacht is going to be swarming with cops soon and I don't want you caught in the cross-fire." 

Carefully, the detective pushed an arm into the tiny space until he could anchor his hand under Blair's shoulder and pull the young man toward him. Blair collapsed against him with a small cry of pain and then defiantly, pushed himself to his feet, wobbling dangerously. The anthropologist massaged the small of his back and bent over once more. "My back hurts and my legs feel numb. I don't know how far I can walk, Jim." 

"Then I'll carry you," Jim answered. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again, Blair." The detective wrapped an arm about Blair's shoulders and turned him toward the stairs. 

"Well, isn't that sweet?" Nick Kostas said as he raised his gun and centered it on Jim. "Only away from me for a few days and you've already found yourself another boyfriend, Thursday. I'm hurt." 

"You can't get away, Kostas." Jim cocked his head as he heard sirens in the distance. "This marina is alive with cops. You don't have a chance." 

"But that's where you're wrong, Detective," Kostas countered, an evil grin lighting his deformed features. "I don't need a chance. I've got you." 

"Let Blair go then. You don't need him." 

"Jim." The detective silenced the young man with a look. 

"Thursday comes with me, Detective. I still have uses for him." 

"I can't let you take him," Jim answered firmly. He took a step forward and shook off Blair's restraining hand. "So you'll have to go through me to get to him." 

Kostas brought the gun up higher. "Believe me, that can be arranged." He took a step back and indicated the stairs with his gun. "Up the stairs, both of you, slowly." 

Jim ushered Blair ahead of him, steadying the younger man when he appeared to stumble. The detective waited for a chance to disarm the fat man as they cleared the stairs and came up on deck, but Kostas was too quick for him. He reached out an arm, and grabbed a fistful of Blair's hair, dragging the young man back to his side. Grinding the gun hard into Blair's temple, Kostas moved toward the side of the yacht overlooking the marina, motioning Jim closer with a sideways movement of his head. "Tell them to stay where they are or you and the kid die." 

Jim hesitated until a hard smack to Blair's skull with the gun and a pained cry from the young man forced him to reconsider. "Simon. Tell everyone to hold their fire. Kostas has Blair." 

He turned back to Kostas as he heard his captain's frantic calls for a cease-fire. "Now what?" 

"Now we wait until they agree to my safe passage out of here," Kostas answered. He dragged Blair up against him and moved to the other side of the yacht, indicating for Jim to follow. Jim looked around quickly. On this side, they were out of sight of the police on the pier and there was no way anyone could take a shot. The murderer smiled. "Guess I really don't have any more use for young Thursday here. May as well kill him now." He raised the gun to Blair's head once more as the young man's eyes grew wide with fear. 

"You do that, Kostas and you'll have to kill me too," Jim vowed. "But I'll make sure I take you with me." 

Kostas swallowed nervously but tried to laugh the comment off. "Just joking, Ellison. You must really have it bad for the little fag. You know, I didn't think they allowed queers in the police force. How times change. Still, I'll tell you this much. You're getting a mighty fine fuck, Detective. Thursday has the tightest ass. It was my pleasure to break him in for you." 

Finally, Kostas' mouth gave Jim the opening he needed. As the fat man continued to taunt the detective, his gun hand began to sag. Blair seemed to read the intent in Jim's eyes and with an almost imperceptible nod, he threw himself violently sideways, wrenching himself from the other man's grasp. 

His balance upset and compromised by loss of blood and shock, Blair felt himself tip over the railing. He flailed frantically for a grip, then a scream was ripped from his throat as his injured arm slammed against the side of the yacht in his fall to the icy water below. His headlong impact into the frigid depths stole his breath and he choked and spluttered, his arms windmilling wildly as he fought his way back to the surface. 

Above him, he could see Jim and Kostas struggling over possession of the gun. Then a shot rang out and Kostas stiffened before falling backward out of his sight. Blair felt a shudder of relief pass through him and then his shivering began in earnest as the cold penetrated. He felt the weight of his waterlogged clothes pull him under and he allowed himself to drift, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. 

Just as his eyes shut and the water closed over his head, a large hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him back to the surface. He was pulled up against a firm expanse of chest, then turned onto his back. Looking up, he saw Jim's concerned face above him and he smiled. 

"Jim. 'Zat you?" 

Jim nodded his head and began to tow the young man toward the marina. "Yeah, buddy, it's me. Just relax, I'll have you warmed up in no time." 

Blair screwed up his face as his broken arm spasmed in the chill. "Arm hurts." 

"I know, Chief. We're almost there." 

Blair felt several hands catch hold of him and pull him upward. The movement caused the agony of his injuries to flare and blackness quickly descended, mercifully taking the pain with it. 

0~0~0~0~0 

Jim tried to straighten up in the hard plastic chair and wondered once more why hospital chairs had to be so damned uncomfortable. "So you won't want to hang around too long and annoy the nurses," a voice said in his ear as a hand descended to his shoulder. 

The detective looked up and smiled at the friendly face of Dr. Dan Mason, who stood in front of him, wearing a weary expression. "Hey, Doc. How's he doing?" 

"Let's go get a cup of coffee," Dan said. "I don't get many opportunities for a break on this shift, so I've got to grab them while I can." 

Jim nodded and followed the doctor to the end of the corridor and into a small alcove. Waving Jim to a seat, he poured two cups of coffee and handed one to the detective before sitting down with a contented sigh. He sipped at the steaming brew and closed his eyes for a moment in bliss. Finally, hearing Jim's impatient foot tapping, he took the hint and leaned forward. "Sorry. Okay, here's what we've got. Blair has a mild concussion, a fractured right upper arm caused by a bullet and a nasty infected wound from the same bullet. The slug passed straight through by the way, but the conditions he was kept in were far from sanitary, not to mention the delay in getting treatment and possibly some germs from the water. Speaking of the water, his lungs aren't too bad, considering; though the IV antibiotics I've got him on for the arm infection will help that as well. He's cold, exhausted, mildly dehydrated and scared as hell." He watched Jim's jaw tightening with idle curiosity. "I bet your dental bills are through the roof." He shrugged when Jim ignored the comment. "Anyway, I've given him a sedative, which he argued against, plus some pain relief for the arm, which he was happy to have but I'm heading home for some sleep and I wondered if you'd mind sitting with him, just in case he wakes up. It would help for him to have a friendly face nearby." 

Jim was already on his feet and striding down the corridor before the doctor finished speaking. "What room is he in?" he asked over his shoulder. 

"412." The doctor grinned, cracked an almighty yawn and went home to bed, knowing his patient was in good hands. 

0~0~0~0~0 

A slight shifting of Blair's body alerted Jim to the fact that his charge was waking up and he hooked a foot around the base of his chair, scooting closer to the bed. He reached out one hand and clasped Blair's, leaning forward so that he could examine the pale face more clearly. "Blair? You going to wake up for me?" 

Blair's face scrunched up as though in pain and a soft moan escaped his lips. Jim stroked the young man's forehead, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself as the frown disappeared. Slowly, blue eyes opened, then shut, and finally opened again to wander slowly about the room before coming to rest on Jim's face. 

Blair blinked a couple of times, then raised a hand to rub at his eyes, blinking at the cast on his arm that reached to his armpit. Jim caught hold of the arm gently and lowered it back to the pillow at Blair's side. 

"Hey there," the detective whispered, pulling the covers more securely around Blair's shoulders. "How are you feeling?" 

Blair appeared to consider the question for a moment. "Numb," he said finally. "Glad to see you." 

"Not half as glad as I am to see you." Jim stroked a hand down Blair's cheek, his smile growing impossibly wider as Blair turned his face into the caress, then reached up to capture the hand and press a soft kiss to the detective's palm. 

Blair's IV-laden hand reached out from under the covers to ghost along the stitches on Jim's forehead. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm okay. A headache." The detective sighed. "My senses are a little out of whack." 

"Spiking?" 

"Yeah, exactly," Jim exclaimed. "How did you know?" 

"It's what I've been studying, remember?" Blair answered. "I really can help you, no strings attached, Jim. Forget the thesis. I just want to help you." 

Jim nodded. "I know that, Blair. I'm sorry for ever doubting you." 

Blair smiled. "All right. Close your eyes. Relax. I want you to picture a dial. You've got one in your head for each of your senses. Find the one for pain. Got it?" 

Jim opened one eye and stared at the younger man. 

"Concentrate, Jim. Geez, you've got the attention span of a gerbil." 

"All right, already. I've got the dial." 

"What's it set at?" 

"9." 

"Okay, you need to focus on that dial and turn it down. Bring it down to 7... now to 5... 3...1. Good, that's great. How does it feel now?" 

Jim rubbed at his temples and smiled. "Pretty good, actually. Why not take it down to zero?" 

Blair shook his head. "Too dangerous, Jim. You could mask symptoms of a worsening condition." 

Jim leaned forward then and rested his head on the bar of the bedrail. "The other stuff. The...zoneouts? You know how to stop them from happening?" 

Blair nodded, then tried to talk around a jaw-cracking yawn. "I think so. I mean, we know why they happen, so it shouldn't be that hard to figure out how to stop them." 

Jim grinned. "It has a nice ring to it. We." He stood then and leaned in to press a kiss to Blair's soft lips, delighting in the spicy tang of Blair underlying the hospital taste. "This dial thing? Think it will work the other way, as in dialing up?" 

"I can't see why not," Blair replied sleepily. "What did you have in mind?" 

"Just thinking that it could turn making love to you into an amazing experience." 

Blair quirked an eyebrow. "It has merit. Purely from a scientific standpoint of course." 

"Of course." 

Blair shifted in the bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. "When can I go home?" 

"In a few days," Jim answered, continuing his mesmerizing stroke down Blair's face and neck. "You're a little banged up and you've got an infection in your arm. The doctor wants to keep you here until you're feeling a little better." 

Blair frowned but nodded. "Are you going to stay here?" 

Jim nodded. "As long as you'll have me." 

"How does forever sound?" 

"Sounds perfect." 

0~0~0~0~0 

Epilogue: 

Jim unlocked the door to the loft and pushed the door open, waiting for Blair to enter first. The young man walked in slowly, one arm still encased in a half plaster cast that stretched from fingertips to armpit, but allowed the doctors access to the bullet wound in his upper arm. The bruises and cuts on his face had faded and his pneumonia was gone, but he still looked wan and weary, his shoulders hunched with the weight of his experience. 

Jim put down Blair's duffel bag and took Blair's good hand in his, leading the way over to the couch. He pushed the young man down onto the seat, then leaned in for a kiss that Blair returned happily. The young man's arms pulled the detective down to sit beside him, and then Blair pushed him back and settled himself on top of the firm body. 

"Home," Blair said happily. He nuzzled into Jim's neck, sucking and nipping lightly, causing Jim to squirm beneath him. Suddenly, he stopped and pushed himself up with a hand on Jim's chest. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "Me staying here?" 

"Sure," Jim answered, pulling the young man down to lie against him once more. "It'll be more convenient anyway, if we're working on my senses." 

"Yeah." Blair pushed himself up and sat straight on the seat. 

Jim did some nuzzling of his own before cupping Blair's face and turning him gently to look at him. "Plus, I don't want to let you out of my sight ever again." 

Blair smiled then and leaned in for another kiss, opening his mouth this time to invite Jim's tongue in, moaning softly as Jim's hands went lower, stroking across his already hard nipples. 

Moving away from Jim's lips, he rested his head against his lover's shoulder. "So, Simon really said I could work with you?" 

Jim carded his fingers through Blair's soft curls. "Yep. When I told him how much you could help with my senses and what kind of information I'll be able to pick up at crime scenes, that pretty much sold him." 

Blair leaned back to look at Jim. "You didn't use that human crime lab line, did you?" 

"Why not?" Jim countered. "I thought he was going to choke when you went into that thin blue line spiel." 

"I just thought it sounded professional," Blair said, idly playing with the buttons of Jim's shirt with his good hand. "What are we going to tell them when I apply for my police observer's pass?" 

"Just that you're doing your doctorate on, what was it?" 

"Closed societies?" 

"Yeah, that's it." Jim's voice was muffled as he bent his head to sniff Blair's hair, savoring the soft herbal scent. "Don't worry, Simon's clearing it with the commissioner. As of Monday, you're an official police observer for three months." His head jerked up and he pushed away from the anthropologist. "That reminds me. Back in a minute." 

Blair watched open-mouthed as Jim headed up the stairs at a run, then returned just as quickly bearing something in a dark leather case. The detective deposited the object on Blair's lap and stood back, smiling broadly. Blair looked up, then back to the laptop. "This is for me?" he squeaked. "Oh, Jim. This is too much. I can't..." 

Jim crouched down and cupped Blair's face in his hand. "You need this to do your research. Consider it a thank you gift." 

"A thank you gift for what?" Blair asked. 

"Teaching me that dial thing," Jim replied, leaning in for a kiss, then moving to sit beside Blair once more. "I 'm going to have some fun with that." 

Blair placed the computer carefully on the coffee table and embraced Jim tightly. "Thank you." He wiped away the tear that snaked down his cheek and then pushed his hand under Jim's shirt. "I'd rather be a Jim observer," he whispered. 

"Anytime, Chief, anytime." 

Blair sighed as Jim's fingers unbuttoned his shirt and reached underneath the cloth to ghost over his furred chest then snaked lower to rub over his erection. He leaned back lengthwise at Jim's insistence and lifted his feet onto the couch as Jim scooted out of the way and kneeled beside him. The anthropologist arched his hips as Jim stroked his cloth-covered shaft once more, before lowering the zipper on his pants and popping the button at the waistband. Blair groaned deep in his throat as Jim's large warm hand reached into the confines of his pants and fisted his growing erection, stroking it firmly to full hardness. Jim pulled Blair's pants down to his ankles and then pulled them over his feet, tossing them to one side, uncaring for once about tidiness. He lowered his mouth to take Blair's weeping cock into his mouth. 

Jim's hands kept Blair's hips from moving as the detective used his own rhythm to suck up and down the hard shaft, then pushed Blair's legs apart to stroke softly across his center. Jim continued to suck, then released Blair's hips so that he could thrust into Jim's mouth, the detective's other hand going now to his zipper to free his own neglected cock. Jim began to stroke himself with the same rhythm that Blair was using to fuck his mouth and soon the younger man was crooning his pleasure as his seed erupted into Jim's mouth. The sensation was enough to trigger Jim's own orgasm and he stroked harder as his cock pulsed and spilled warm wetness over his fist. 

Jim rested his head on Blair's chest, running a gentle finger over his lover's softening cock. He turned his head so that he faced Blair and smiled. "Welcome home, Chief. Welcome home." 

Fin 

-Lyn 

-19th August 2001. 

[a1]  
[a2]  
[a3] 

* * *

End Key to my soul by Lyn: lyntownsend_2000@yahoo.com

Author and story notes [above](keyto.html#Top).

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
